DandelionClan Challenge: Dedicated to the Warrior Code
by neraid
Summary: Just a challenge


The storm rolled in at night, and when the clouds rolled in, rain pelted down on the forests and clearings. The ShadowClan territory reeked of soggy garbage, the RiverClan boundaries were swept away in raging currents and hungry, lapping waters. WindClan cats huddled in their dens, murmuring their grievances to the angry skies, and ThunderClan elders watched in amusement as naive little apprentices splashed in the shallow infant puddles. There were no cats in between. All kept their distances from one another. Hunting grounds and training clearings alike were barren the crackling lightning, and not even the thunder path through the territories was grazed by curious wandering paws.

But in a brilliant flash of pure white light, a single soul became visible in the dark nothingness. She was a frail she-cat with red fur, soaked down to her delicate bones, and sunken yellow eyes. Her belly was round in spite of her otherwise skeletal appearance. Heavy with kits, she dragged herself weakly through the slippery mud which clung to the fur of her dragging underbelly and her twig-like legs.

In the cover of the storm, it seemed, no cats had witnessed her departure. Her slithering through the reeds like a an adder, abandoning her peaceful den for the raging storm outside when came the time. The nursery, for moons occupied only by her with infrequent visits from the medicine cat and clan leader, would likely go unchecked until the storms ceased, or the floods lifted their nests off the ground. Whatever the case, for the time being, she did not exist to the treacherous outside world.

She collapsed onto her side, her chest heaving as she lay splayed on on the muddied riverbank. Her throat closed upon itself, choking on the thickness of the air alone as her kits rippled in her stomach in waves of unbearable pain. Her once snowy toes curled in agony and her screams pierced the rain battered air. A kit pawed the inside of her belly and another slid out onto the foul mud. The she-cat yowled again and closed her eyes to shield them from the rain.

Curled up in the nest of a leader, a tom slept. A tom from that she-cat's clan. His whiskers twitching with anxious joy, his heart swelling with pride, he slept. In his mind, he believed the kits of the red she-cat were his own. Those very kits being birthed in the storm on the riverbank. He had no reason to think otherwise. In the words of the she-cat, he had been told she was carrying his kits. The heirs of his clan. And in a ripple of gasps and murmurs, Foxfoot, a so-called traitorous she-cat, was the mate of a powerful leader. A tom with nine lives, recently gifted to him. A new name to add to his new power. Reedstar was a strong, handsome tom, desired by most she-cats, he was a brave, honest, and fair leader. But in Foxfoot's eyes, he had been nothing more than a pawn in her game of lies. With him as her mate, she gained the favor of the clan. In her, the cats of her clan found a new respect. And with it came envy. But whatever Reedstar felt could not deny or mask the truth, or change it for that matter. The kits were not his, plain and simple. Nor were they full-blooded RiverClan kits. No. Foxfoot's true mate was Whitewind, a WindClan tom. He had a way with words that had charmed her since the day she had met him. Captivated her, even. And while she was truly in love with him, she felt StarClan bearing down on her with every step she took. How she wanted to shout, "I don't care!" But deep down, she did. She needed to right her wrongs. Set things right. And in order to do that, she knew she had to erase the bad things she had done...

She stared at the four kits. Stared blankly and said nothing. She could not find the energy to move. So she watched. They were covered in mud and sopping wet. The mewled and cried for her, but she made no moves towards them. Her eyes were clouded and empty as they pawed the wet ground, trembling and shivering. She knew what had to be done. Heaving herself to her paws, she nudged the newborns with her nose towards the river that crashed furiously against the bank. The kits mewled for her, but she ignored their cries still. With a final heave, she tossed them over the side, and a chorus of helpless squeals followed as they were swallowed by the water. And Foxfoot was left alone, hollowed in many ways, too many to count. The river would sweep them away from the territories to the bottom of the lake without question or hesitation. It had to happen, or her clanmates would find the bodies. She would be deemed a murderer...and as she trudged weakly back to her camp, stories raced through her head. Excuses.

But it didn't matter...it couldn't now. She had erased her mistakes.

She was no longer a traitor.


End file.
